


The French Disaster

by Limitless_Mind



Category: Meta Supernatural, Supernatural
Genre: Actors, Angst, Bisexuality, Crack, Dean fucks up, Dean’s repression, Fluff, French Mistake ‘verse, French Mistake- in the meta Jensen and Misha are married, Humor, M/M, Married Couples, Minor Character Death, Misha is an acting god, Misuse of Twitter™, Pagan Gods, Qetesh is in trouble, Richard just KNOWS, Sam’s a born again virgin, Wow look a plot, but It’s ok, cute people, its Gay not Yaoi, kale - Freeform, look at how married they are, self-hate
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-18
Updated: 2017-11-18
Packaged: 2019-02-03 22:44:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12757662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Limitless_Mind/pseuds/Limitless_Mind
Summary: After a summoning goes wrong and a goddess of love sends Dean to an alternate reality, he find himself in a mixup of kale, GISHWHES, wedding rings, a hyperactive puppy man named Jared that’s supposed to be his best friend, surly directors, and the fact that other him is married to a dude?! And now he has to pretend to be married to this... this impostor, this not-Cas. Dean’s in deep shit.Also, where the hell are these angels coming from, and why are they trying to kill his husband?





	1. The Switcheroo

**Author's Note:**

> Hi guys! Please keep in mind that this is not RPF, these are the characters in Supernatural. What has our fandom come to. 
> 
> Also, I did research on the Canaanite religion, but still please excuse any or all egregious errors, I used Wikipedia. (Hate me later).

Sam scowled, flipping through the many dusty tomes in the stacks. “Find anything?” he shouted to Dean.  
“I’ve got jack,” his equally displeased brother spat back. “Who would have figured that Astarte and Qetesh had a thing going?” The taller Winchester rolled his eyes.  
“They’re gods of love. Especially Qetesh. And they’re from the same religion. The real question isn’t why they’re pulling a vengeful spirit on the porn industry, it’s why they’re doing it in America.”  
“I just want my porn back, man,” Dean grumbled. “I don’t like all of the social justice crap that they plastered all over my sites.”  
“I need to find a way to repay them for that, personally,” Sam muttered, loud enough to get an empty box thrown at him. “But,” he amended, “they really shouldn’t be annihilating everyone in the industry.”  
“And the Canaanite religion went dead eons ago, no less. How do we even kill them?”  
“Maybe if we can convince them to keep the social justice ads up,” Sam mused aloud. “It would save me a lot of time wishing that I could bleach my mind.”  
“As soon as I have those two bitches speared, you’re next, Sammy,” Dean snarled. Sam merely smiled and gasped in surprise as a book fell off of the top of an already precarious stack, his hand shooting out to narrowly catch it. He yelped as the entire tower of books proceeded to fall on him, managing to save most of the really damaged ones. Dean smirked down at his brother, who was lying on the floor with dust turning his long hair gray. “Touched any rabbit’s feet lately, Sam? Lost your-”  
“Don’t even say it,” Sam snapped. “Don’t you dare say it.” Dean only laughed before his eyes fell on a book next to Sam’s head. He stooped and plucked it off the floor, blowing dust off the cover and coughing.  
“Not Remembered: Pagan Gods of the Past,” he read. “Ugly name, but jackpot.” Sam picked the books off of himself gingerly, stacking them, then opened his laptop.  
“Hey, I think I've got something.”  
“What?”  
“It’s… a summoning spell. For Astarte. Summon and bind. God, I can’t read this guy’s handwriting.”  
“Give me that.” Sam snatched the book. “Crap, you’re right. This is it.” He wrinkled his nose. “What is it with the blood of virgins? We don’t have any…” He looked over at Dean. His brother was staring at him pointedly. “I doubt born-again virgins count, Dean.”  
“Well, it’s worth a shot, Sammy,” Dean said merrily, elbowing his brother and grinning it him, all anger forgotten. “You haven’t done the-”  
“No, I’m still… I’m still a virgin,” Sam sighed. “Bit busy with the world ending a few times and Amara eating the sun like it was a PB&J.”  
“Hope that knife isn’t too sharp for you, you mama’s boy. Take off your pledge ring now.”  
“Dean.” Dean snickered and walked into the pantry of herbs and animal’s body parts. Sam pulled the wooden bowl that they used for spells and set it on the table. “We got stakes?”  
“Yeah, which ones do you want?” The voice floated out of the pantry.  
“All of them. She’s going to be pissed.” Sam started assembling candles and drawing sigils. Dean came out with a handful of wooden boxes and a few suspicious dirty burlap bags, what had to be fifteen or sixteen stakes crammed under his arm.  
“Okay, let’s do this.” They spent fifteen minutes. Sam crumbled herbs into the spell bowl and lit candles. Dean sat in the corner and painted stakes with animal’s blood and a small bowl of his own blood while whistling Led Zeppelin and trying not to look disturbing. He succeeded in the Led Zeppelin, at least. After fifteen minutes, they were good to go. Sam stood in front of the bowl and raised his hands, looking out of the corner of his eye as he read the words from the book, taking a butterfly knife and cutting a small wound into his palm, thirteen drops of blood, no more, no less, spilling over the herbs and the rabbit’s hair. All the candles blazed up, the flames shooting a foot high for a second, and a cold wind blew through the bunker. Sam closed his eyes.  
“You call me.” When he opened them, a woman was standing on the other side of the table. The glowing circles around her wrists were spitting red sparks and fizting. The god herself was insanely beautiful. Dark eyes lined with dark makeup, skin as smooth as chocolate and the color of oak. She was wearing a red headscarf with gold lining. Jewelry that shimmered in the candlelight turned colors and shades. One lock of curly dark hair escaped the scarf. It seemed a little like rebellion. Sam knew the look, even in inhuman eyes. “I am Astarte.”

  
“Where’s your girlfriend, little lady?” Dean asked, wiping his hands on a towel. Astarte turned her enchanting eyes to him and he quailed slightly.  
“Qetesh had things to do,” she said evenly. “We are planning something for the Winchesters. You have killed many of our brethren.”  
“Well, you kill a lot of people, too,” Dean pointed out. “And you’re ruining porn, which might be worse.” Astarte made a low noise. Her eyes darkened.  
“You do not understand love, Dean Winchester. You meddle in the fake love that they make, you never tell your brother how much you appreciate him. And your angel.” Dean frowned.  
“Which one? I’ve taken one to bed. Or… um… car.” Sam groaned and Astarte sighed, rolling her eyes. Her jewelry clanked as she stepped towards Dean.  
“Enough.” The bindings fizzled out. The younger Winchester gaped.

  
“Guess the fake virgin blood wasn’t good enough after all,” Dean muttered. Astarte walked up to him, her movements like liquid. She raised a hand and tapped a nail on his nose. He stiffened.  
“This is love. Let me show you, Dean Winchester, what happens when you let people who love you in. I have learned much from humans. Now learn something from me. Let me take you to a place where you are loved.” He felt a weird twisting in his gut and then everything went white. And Astarte smiled warmly at Sam, too warmly for a killer, and vanished. And they were both gone. And Sam was left with an open wound on his hand and a splitting headache. And no Dean. Fan friggin’ tastic.

***

Dean faintly thought he heard someone calling his name. And then the person wasn’t calling his name. He was calling someone else’s name. Dean blinked twice, trying to focus his blurry vision, and shook his head until things didn’t look like pools of color. It was like focusing a camera with a shitty lens, the thing whirring out and back in and out and in and nothing got better. And then he got whacked in the head.

That made things better. He came face to face with an incredibly worried-looking Castiel. The angel’s nose was wrinkled in the most comical way and his brows were furrowed.  
And then Dean’s earth shattered.  
“Jen, what in the seven rings of hell? Did Jared give you weed again?” This wasn’t Cas. What was up with the voice? It was like his angel had swallowed a sun’s worth of helium.

  
“Not Cas,” Dean managed to croak out through his thick tongue and whirling vision. “Not Cas.”  
“Well, no shit, Sherlock, I’ve been looking for you everywhere. Come on, beautiful, I’ve got some water.” This man’s voice was eerily familiar. He had heard it once before. What the hell was the guy’s name? His name… his name… Dean had to remember this guy’s name. A bottle was pushed to his lips and he drank greedily.  
“Misha.” It came off of his lips and he remembered. “Didn’t you die?” Misha quirked an eyebrow and grinned.  
“Which time are you referring to? You can hardly talk, after Mystery Spot.”

  
“The alley and the angel…” Dean croaked, stumbling to his feet. Shit. Shit on six levels. It was this dumb universe again. Misha only grinned wider.  
“Wow, buddy, you are high as a bird. That was an episode.”  
“Isn’t that some kind of fourth wall-” Dean’s mind decided to briefly function for a moment before going right back on vacation.  
“What fourth wall? We’ve got Deadpool’s fourth wall, for the love of god. Or none. Same difference.” What Dean was not prepared for was for Misha to wrap his arms around him from behind and plant a kiss on his cheek. His legs almost fell out from under him and he flailed. Wait, what?!  
“Don’t you have a wife?” he managed weakly. “I kn-know we’re friends, but-”

  
“I’ve sort of got a wife. You could call it that.” Dean was not ready to think that through. But his brain was working for the most part, and his vision was clear. If he could just walk, that would be great. And then Misha could stop hugging him, because he didn’t know this guy at all, aside from the fact that he was on Twitter more than was reasonable.

And the guy was grinning like the cat who just got the canary and that put something off in Dean’s stomach. Something was up. “Are you so high that you can’t even remember?”  
“What?”  
“It’s the big day, Jen!” Misha cheered, squeezing Dean tighter and practically carrying him towards the set.  
“Misha, I don’t-”  
“If you cancel this, I will kill you while you’re sleeping. We don’t even have any lines. We shot the first bit already, remember?” Dean shot a silent prayer to Astarte, bitch that she was, in thanks of the fact that he wouldn’t have to memorize anything in fifty seconds.  
“Oh, y-yeah.”

  
“So just go with the flow. Singer wants an ad lib at the end, even if he didn’t say so, so try to come up with something clever.”  
“I’ll do my best.” Dean was now fully in panic mode. Now he had to think of something on the spot?! What were they even filming?! Misha brought Dean into the set. He could mostly walk on his own, but it was still tricky. Guess being world-flipped did that to a guy.

  
“I found the bastard!” Everyone broke into cheers and it was surreal. The man that Dean recognized as Singer grinned and sat back in his chair.  
“Excellent! Now we can get started. Jensen, Misha, places.” Dean recalled that he was Jensen and skittered onto the set, finding a green x. “And… we’re rolling.” The hunter yelped in surprise as Misha grabbed him by his shirt and shoved him into the wall with surprising force. Little dude was stronger than he looked.  
“Do you even know, Dean, how much I’ve done for you? How much you mean to me?” Misha snarled, looking exactly like Cas. It was even more surreal but then it got weirder as the actor leaned forward and closed his eyes, his eyelashes brushing over Dean’s cheekbone. A moment lasted a year.

  
And then he was kissing Dean.  
Dean had a crisis on his hands. He was fairly sure that he was supposed to kiss back, but this was his best friend. But it wasn’t Cas. And Cas would probably never know, right? No harm, no foul. And the actor dude’s a good kisser. So he tilted his head and dropped his hands to Cast- nope, Misha’s waist (oh, but if it was Cas) and kissed back. When Misha pulled away, Dean fell back against the wall and said plainly, his eyes wide and shocked, “What the hell, Cas?”  
“And we’re done for the day, gentlemen,” Singer said, sounding pleased with himself. “Misha, why don’t you take your husband back to the trailer? He looks kinda out of it. Jared, a word about the silly string.” Misha dragged Dean off the set and towards a trailer.  
Dean was almost going to die. He was sure of it. As soon as he had figured out where he was and who the people were, it wasn’t there. This place was different.

Offensively ugly snowflake sweater Misha had a wife. He did too. And now they were here and their wives were… Dean shrugged. Their wives were currently probably living it up in some tropical island while he froze his ass off in Vancouver. He was going to have to do some research.  
“Sorry I’m so distant, it’s just like… um… like I can’t remember anything.” Misha only laughed cheerily and steered Dean inside.  
“Just remember. Your name is Dean Winchester. Your mother is Mary Winchester. Castiel is your boyfriend and-” Dean laughed awkwardly. That moment hadn’t been funny. It had been absolutely terrifying. And Castiel wasn’t Dean’s boyfriend because Dean was straight as a road. ‘A suburban road,’ his brain supplied helpfully. ‘Where were you when I was getting kissed by a dude?’ Dean thought back viciously at it and stumbled towards the couch only to feel arms wrap around him again.  
“We are out of food, and more importantly, out of kale. I’m going to the store, okay?”  
“Is kale not even a food anymore, then?” Dean asked, getting a chuckle.  
“No, kale is a god. I’ll be back in half an hour. Try not to burn anything down. And don’t die.”  
“I won’t.” Misha pulled off his suit and trenchcoat and revealed a shirt that said some combination of letters that Dean didn’t understand. GISHWHES? What the absolute hell? He had a LOT of research to do. He found a laptop sitting on a table and opened it, clicking on Safari and searching his “name”. Same Texan background, same awful-ass soap opera, same mother and father and Dean scrolled down to see who his spouse was here. His wife was… Dean almost fell off his chair.

  
His “wife” was Misha.

 

 Dean frowned. But they both had wives the last time! But this wasn't last time. This was the doing of a pagan goddess. Damn, reminded him of Gabriel, the whiny little prick. He frowned and googled Misha Collins. Maybe the website was wrong. And no. 

_Misha Ackles, born Dmitri Tuppins Krushnic, is an American actor and activist who is known primarily for his roles in-_ Dean slammed the laptop shut and put his head in his hands. He married a guy. Dean Winchester, the ladies’ man, married a man. And he would have to be pretending to be married to Misha, too, until he got out. Well, he already kissed you, how bad can it be? The hunter groaned and stood up, walking stiffly over to the fridge and finding beer. Well, they weren't total heathens in Vancouver.

He popped the top and took a swig, reveling in the faint burn of the alcohol. Why did Astarte do this to him? Why send him to this place?  
He was loved here. Dean’s eyes widened. He had a husband here, not to mention an entire fanbase. He was loved. He stood up, started looking through the trailer for things that might make his time with Misha a little less awkward, and watched a few videos on YouTube. _Biking with Mish,_ it said on the back of one photograph. A nickname. Dean went into what had to be their bedroom and changed into something that felt very unnatural but was comfortable, just a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt. He never wore sweats. He needed to amend that. The trailer door slammed and Dean walked out of the room, smiling sheepishly.

  
“Hey, Mish,” he said almost shyly.  
“There you are, Jen! I was wondering what had got you.” Misha set a few bags down and walked over to Dean, pecking him on the lips. Dean smiled. He was loved. But he still had to get home. There was no magic here, he knew that much. Misha pulled away and grinned at Dean. “Be a gentlemen?” He gestured to the bags, snapping Dean out of his worried thoughts.  
“Oh, y-yeah, sure.” Dean picked them both up and carried them in, Misha following behind him, whistling slightly. The hunter’s cheeks flushed and he smiled slightly. This was like what he had had with Lisa. “So… today.”

  
“Yeah, the Big Day. We’re going public.”  
“We’re on Wikipedia.”  
“No one looks at Wikipedia, love. It blew its own reputation to hell.” Dean huffed out a chuckle and set the bags on the counter.  
“What’s for dinner?”  
“Oh, I’m cooking? Hope your praying is fantastic.”  
“I’ll take my chances. I’ve got faith in you.” This wasn’t Cas. Not even close. And Dean wasn’t even trying to flirt with him, but this guy thought they were married, for the love of christ, and it was infectious.  
“You’re a dear. We’re going to eat kale.”  
“Mish, what the hell is it with you an’ kale?”  
“Be healthy, Texas boy,” the actor fired back, pulling various items out of the bag. Was that…  
“A six pound thing of glitter?”  
“We have a con tomorrow!” Oh, they were going to a convention. Dean loved conventions, he had gone to a few with Charlie. He would never admit that he liked it to Sam.  
“Where did you even get that?!” Misha only winked at Dean and pulled a pan out of the drawer under the stovetop.  
“Kiss me and I’ll tell you,” he teased.

  
“Nah, I don’t love you that much,” Dean teased back, grinning and forgetting about a land where he went back to a motel room bloody every night and never slept. Misha gasped and turned around dramatically, pretending to faint.  
“You had better take that back, Jensen Ackles.”  
“Okay fine. I take it back. I love you even less.” Misha squawked and tackled Dean, pummeling him gently with his fists. Dean yelped and covered his face, laughing. Misha stopped the physical assault and pulled away, and Dean looked up to see an actor sitting on his chest, smirking down at him.  
“Then I’ll make you love me, you awful person.” Misha leaned down and kissed Dean on the nose.  
“Get me some pie and I might remember why I married you.”  
“It’s in the bag, you asshole,” Dean’s… husband murmured, leaning down and resting his head on Dean’s chest. Dean smiled softly, tangling his fingers in the dark hair.

  
“Ah! Yes! I remember why I married you.” All of this mush and feelings. Not his strong suit. Misha chuckled and tucked Dean’s arm over his shoulders.  
“You’re warmer than you usually are.”  
“Let me just insert a cheesy romantic line here,” Dean joked, getting a muffled laugh. “Okay, let me up and remind me where the silverware is.” 

“Jensen,” Misha groaned. “Do you have amnesia or are you just fucking around with me?” I have never met this you before in my life and you remind me of my best friend so I'm going to pretend to be in love with you. Dean grinned.  
“Definitely fucking around.” Misha swatted him and then helped him up.  
“The silverware’s there.” Dean made a mental note as Misha got out plates. He didn't know how long he would be here, might as well find a way to survive. The hunter opened the drawer and pulled out two sets of forks while Misha started spaghetti. It was disgustingly domestic and it felt amazing. This is what he had with Lisa, only better. No fear of beings coming to kill the person who he cared about. _Come on, Dean. You've been here for thirty minutes, and he's a dude. You don't swing that way, remember? What would Dad say?_

At that moment, Dean didn’t care.  
Someone was watching them from the trailer window. Neither noticed, of course, because she was very, very quiet. A rift had been opened by Astarte, and she had slipped through.  
“Castiel,” she breathed. Yes. She would be the one to kill the outlaw. She would be a hero.

  
The someone disappeared as Dean sat down to dinner with a man he barely knew. 


	2. The Convention (Azrael’s a real bitch)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Convention! We meet Richard, use the glitter, and....
> 
>  
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>  
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>  
> 
> Misha gets kidnapped. Not sorry.  
> Huge, huge shoutout to firefly124, itsthetenerifesea, eorozco2720, And fangirlingovercastiel as my first commenters!! Love you guys!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, so, I’m not going to give you the usual schpiel on comments and kudos. I actually have made an email, if any of you artists want to send in image ideas for Astarte or the angel Azrael.  
> My email is limitlessmind27@gmail.com. 
> 
> I promise there will be no more OCs if that’s not your thing, those two just kind of snuck up on me.

Dean woke up to someone pressing into his chest and mumbling sleepily. He thought for a second that he had gone out, got a girl, and fallen into a drunken stupor (that had been a weird ass dream…) His eyes shot open as he realized that he couldn’t feel the soft curves of a woman next to him. No, it was hard, flat lines, toned muscle and sharp hip bones. And it wasn’t… it wasn’t all that bad.  
“Morning,” Misha mumbled, pressing his face into Dean’s chest. “Wanna sleep more.” Dean laughed despite himself.  
“I’m going to go and-“ A hand shot out and grabbed him by the arm.

“You are warm and I am not. You are staying here.” Misha was not a morning person, apparently. Dean wrapped his arms around his sort-of-not-quite husband and pulled him close. Misha hummed happily.  
“Do we have to film today?”  
“If we do, it can wait.” Dean bit his lip and sighed. Even if he utterly dreaded actually having to act, he couldn’t make it look that way. And then he remembered the glitter sitting on the counter.  
“The convention?” Misha shot out of bed with all of the force of a ballistic missile, leaving Dean reeling.

“SHITSHITSHITSHIT!!!!!!!” Dean raised an eyebrow. “Jen, it’s today! Get dressed!” A shirt landed on the hunter’s face and he spluttered, hopping off the bed and pulling on clothes quickly.  
“Why do I have to be the responsible one?” Dean complained.  
“It has to be one of us.” Misha shoved a towel at him and ran at full tilt out of the room, grabbing the glitter. “Wash your face and get in the car! We gotta blast!”  
“So bossy,” Dean teased. Misha shot him a death stare from the front door and left the trailer. “What about coffee?”  
“What kind of fuckhead drinks coffee?” Misha screamed, throwing the glitter into the backseat of the car and starting the engine. “Thank god and all his angels that this con is in Vancouver.” Dean raced down the steps of the trailer and hopped into the passenger seat. Misha slammed his foot down on the gas and peeled out of the set, breathing out a sigh and plugged in his phone, starting meditation music.

“Are we gonna be okay?”  
“We’re going to get flayed alive by the fans, but I think we’ll be fine. You ready?”  
“Hell no,” Dean said truthfully.  
“Just be an idiot. They’ll love you.”

They arrived fifteen minutes after they were supposed to be there, and a short man with golden hair came barreling out of the convention center, going down the small flight of steps like the building was about to explode as soon as the car pulled up. “GUYS GUYS GUYS THE WINCESTERS ARE RIOTING!”  
“Calm down, Richard,” Misha sighed. “We knew not everyone was going to be thrilled with Singer choosing to make Destiel canon.”  
“Wincesters?” Dean spluttered, still trying to get over the fact that they were talking to Gabriel and he was not dead. Gabriel- Richard gave him a look that screamed ‘how stupid are you?’ It was so similar to the archangel that Dean was subconsciously reaching for a stake that didn’t exist.

“The Wincesters, dumbass. You know the ones.” Dean swallowed back bile and nodded.  
“Great. What do we do?”  
“Let them tire themselves out,” Misha sighed. “We have glitter, there’s only so much that they can do to us.” Richard grinned.  
“Glitter? Whoo, this con’s going to be fucking epic.” Misha smirked and looped his arm through Dean’s, escorting him into the center.

By the time they were on stage, the widespread rioting was over and now there were only a few angry fans with signs proclaiming that Destiel Is A Lie milling around the back of the large room. Misha and Dean walked on stage hand in hand, and the hunter would not admit, even under pain of death, that he liked it a lot. Someone shrieked and then there was cheering, and a few hisses.  
“Hi, Vancouver!” Misha said into his microphone, and the crowd exploded. Dean blinked, shocked. This many people liked his and Sam’s life story? The first question came up and broke him from his reverie.  
“Hi, Jensen. Hi, Misha.” She sounded breathless. “So, is it true that you two are actually married? I mean, it’s kind of hard to believe Wikipedia and the pictures, they might be…” Dean smirked and leaned over, gently kissing Misha and tilting his head just the right way.  
He thought someone was doing a twenty one cannon salute with the force of the sound that came from the crowd. Cameras were flashing like lightning. Misha pulled away, his cheeks pink. He cleared his throat.

“So… if that didn’t answer things for you…”  
“Nope! I think I got it,” the girl squeaked.  
“Alright, next.” This was pretty easy, right?  
“So, who’s on top?” Dean’s cheeks turned beet red, but Misha saved him from an untimely death by leaning forward and practically lacing his words with some kind of tone between sly and seductive.  
“Wouldn’t you like to know.” Dean was positive he saw one girl faint. Talking gradually got easier, and not just because of the scotch. Soon, Dean was actually having a pretty good time.  
He didn’t see the someone in the black hoodie in the back, watching Misha almost hungrily. Her prey was practically offering himself up.

Doing conventions was exhausting. People wanted to see kisses, judge cosplays, and Dean was in trepidation over what Richard and Misha had done with that fuckton of glitter. But to have someone press themselves against him reassuringly, to pet his hair and kiss his cheek and to have literally everyone (even the Wincesters, begrudgingly) approve of it… he had never been happier or felt safer. And Misha was nothing if not absolutely hilarious. He brought out a gigantic inflatable duck at some point and deigned to sit on it for almost half an hour before he came over and perched on the hunter’s lap. And Dean was treading on thin ice.  
He wasn’t supposed to fall in love, was he?

And then there was the dancing. The fans convinced them to waltz around like they were in freakin’ Cinderella. Dean didn’t even really know how to waltz, so he just let Misha kind of yank him around the stage… And there were occasions that they would just kind of jump around the stage and call it dancing. The fans ate it up.

The girl was watching them coldly. Fools. Castiel had hidden himself well. This facade was… interesting. The guise of the crazy man in love was well thought out. But Azrael wasn’t an idiot. She was the lion, and Castiel was the lamb, the coward, hiding in plain sight.

The panel ended, and Misha excused himself to go to the bathroom, pecking a smitten Dean on the lips and skipping towards the lavatories, signing pictures, hats, posters, and arms thrust towards him eagerly by hopefuls with sharpie. The actor stepped inside the clean white room and sighed, relaxing. It was good to get away from the bustle every now and again. There was a rustling sound behind him.  
Well, shit. He had acted in too many movies not to know what the sharp metal that had pressed itself into his neck was.  
“To whom do I owe the pleasure, Castiel?” A smooth voice, calm and collected sounded behind him. Too collected. Whoever this person was, they were blank of emotion. This was a duty to them.

“U-um, hi,” Misha said weakly. “Look, kiddo, I’m not Castiel. He’s a character in a tv show.” He prayed for his husband, which was very ironic, seeing as he was supposed to be the angel. But it was a great time for Jensen to suddenly need to piss. ‘Come on, Jen, please. Be a nosy asshole at the right time for once.’  
“Lies,” the girl spat. The knife dug into Misha's neck and he whimpered. “You’re coming with me. Walk out of the bathroom and towards the parking lot. Act like nothing's wrong. Call for help, and I’ll make you watch as I kill your human pet.”  
“Human…? Aren’t we all-?” Misha was very confused.  
“Dean Winchester, naturally.” Oh, god. Yep. Misha had a grade-a nutter on his case.  
“Okay,” he squeaked. “Okay. Look, if you’ll just let me get one phone call, we can get you some help-“ The knife drew a thin line of blood and Misha winced.

“Or you could call the Winchesters, and they could come in and kill me.”  
“Listen, my name is Misha Ackles, I’m an actor. Not a freaking angel.”  
“I doubt that. Let’s go.” Misha walked calmly out of the bathroom, the girl by his side, the knife pressing into his side, an omnipresent threat. They strode out into the parking lot and she turned to face him. “Get in the car.” He unlocked the car numbly and handed her the keys, getting into the passenger seat. There was a thunk, dull pain, and then his world went dark.

Misha woke up on a cold floor in a large, empty building. His head hurt. The memories flooded back- the convention. Richard and the glitter. Jensen had kissed him on stage.  
He missed Jensen. He missed how bold Jensen had suddenly become, not afraid to show how much he cared about Misha. He wanted to go home. The girl was pouring a circle of a clear liquid around him and tossed a match down. The oil lit.  
“This isn’t the best way to talk, seeing as I can’t reach you, but I don’t have any Enochian handcuffs. This mission is important, and yet my superiors couldn’t manage to scrounge up minor support. What is this place, Castiel? My magic is weaker, if not almost nonexistent here.” Act. He had to act. It was the only way that he’d get home to Jensen.

“It’s a… it’s an alternate dimension,” he stuttered, sitting up and twisting his shirt in his hand nervously. “A land in which beings like us do not exist.”  
“Rubbish,” the girl spat. “Angels are present in every dimension.”  
“N-not this one. God, he… he wanted a place unvisited by his children.” The ‘angel’ frowned.  
“Interesting. How did you and Dean get here?”  
“O-oh, that’s not Dean,” Misha laughed nervously. “His name is Jensen, and he is Dean’s parallel.”  
“No, I know about Jensen Ackles. He is not here. That is Dean Winchester.” Misha felt his entire body constrict. His vision went red. This wacko knew about Jensen. Knew his name, and recognized him as separate from the show. That couldn’t be good.

“WHAT. DID. YOU. DO. TO. MY. HUSBAND.”  
“Castiel, angels are not supposed to engage in affectionate activities.”  
“You tell me what you did right now,” Misha spat, his voice shaking. All thoughts of himself went out the window. Azrael blinked again.  
“I did nothing to the actor. He is not of importance to my mission. It is Winchester that we must watch out for.” That didn’t make Misha feel a bit better. Jensen and Dean were the same person! Dean was only a character! The actor straightened his back.  
“If you leave him alone, I’ll answer whatever you have to ask.”  
“It’s a deal. Let’s begin.”

***

Dean was starting to get worried. It had been a half hour and his- not his husband. Jensen’s husband. It didn’t matter. The actor wasn’t back yet. The hunter went into the bathroom. No Misha. Cold hands gripped his chest. Something was wrong. Dean slammed his way out of the bathroom and pulled the nearest fan over.  
“Uh- excuse me, have you seen Misha?”  
“Yeah!” The girl looked like she was in a tizzy over talking to him. “He, uh… he walked with this girl out to the parking lot. Allie says that they just disappeared, but we all know that she was out there smoking grass, so-” Dean’s heart sank lower. Shit.

“Thank you!” He brushed past her and ran out to the parking lot. Empty. Their car wasn’t there. Dean’s eyes flickered over to a spot where all the leaves were brushed away, and he heard the sound of something smoldering. He walked over there and looked down. A symbol had burned itself into the pavement. He pulled his cell out and took a picture.  
“Is everything all right, sir?” A security guard poked her head out of the door. Dean turned around and faced her. His face was deathly pale.  
“Someone has kidnapped my husband.”

***

Misha sat cross legged in the circle of fire.  
“Can I have some water? It’s hot in here.”  
“Water. So you can douse the flames? I don’t think so.” Misha huffed.  
“What if I promise?”  
“The promise of a traitor means nothing.”  
“I swear on my husband’s life that I just want a drink.” The ‘angel’, Azrael, frowned and thought about it.

“Fine.” She disappeared into a room, returning a second later with a bottle of water that she tossed to Misha. He caught it gratefully, taking a sip. Azrael had tired herself out asking questions, and apparently she was waiting for ‘the others’ to get there so they could take ‘Castiel’ back to ‘heaven’ for punishment. The questions had been weird as hell. Something about Lucifer’s child.  
Misha was having an internal panic attack, but he kept it all hidden. If he wanted to see Jensen again, he had to keep his weaknesses on the downlow. The actor took a deep breath. He would make it through this. He’d do it because he had to.

***

“The seal of Azrael,” Dean muttered. It was ten am the next day. The police questioning had taken them all night, and by then, the strange evidence on the pavement had mysteriously healed itself. Something was up. The tv was blaring headlines, the announcers talking hurriedly. Apparently, Misha’s disappearance was second to a camel-exclusive disease in Saudi Arabia. It pissed Dean off.  
“Jen, calm down. The police are investigating.” Jared and a glitter-covered Richard were in his trailer, offering moral support and hugs. Richard was declined a hug, for obvious reasons. He had taken personal offense and had sulked for a half hour before Jared had coaxed him out again.  
“The police ain’t able to do jack.”  
“This isn’t a show, Jensen,” Jared said gently. “We can’t interfere with the investigation.”  
“You don’t get it,” Dean snapped. “This is on me.” Richard scoffed, sending a spray of glitter all over the couch. Yikes.

“Bullshit. It’s no way on you.”  
“If I told you why it’s on me, you wouldn’t believe me.”  
“Try us,” Jared said excitedly. “Talking about it’s healthier than keeping it all in.” Dean raised an eyebrow.  
“No, I think it’s probably better that we don’t talk about it.” He turned back to the computer. Assuming that the seal burned into the pavement was a calling card for Azrael, this was an angel. She would be disconcerted and upset about her loss of power. The car was gone, so that’s how they left. The car...Dean started to hack the traffic cams.  
“Jensen? What are you doing?”  
“Something illegal.”  
“Cool! What is it?” Richard grinned.  
“Traffic cams. It’s going to take awhile.” Understatement. It was noon by the time he was in. Richard and Jared took turns watching the playback film for the Ackles’ vehicle.  
“There’s the car!” Jared shouted. He stopped the film. “It’s headed towards Columbia Way.”

“There’re a bunch of warehouses on Columbia Way,” Richard piped. Dean shot him a weird look.  
“I’m not even going to ask how you know that.”  
“Good. You don’t want to know.” The resemblance to a certain archangel was almost terrifying.  
“Okay. I can’t see which one they go to. There are three, at least. Damn.”  
“We shouldn’t split up,” Jared said flatly. “If Stephen King has taught me anything…”  
“We’ll cover more ground,” Dean argued, amazed that Jared was taking the fact that he was going with for granted. “Who knows what they’re doing to him…”  
“Jen, he’s my friend. I know the possibilities. But we’re no good to each other if this psycho can pick us off one by one.”

“The jury’s still out about Jared’s use anyway.”  
“Shut up, Richard. We’ll take my car.”  
“Guys, it’s going to be dangerous,” Dean warned. Richard grinned.  
“Only makes this better. Let’s do this shit.”

Jared was driving like the devil was behind them, about twenty miles over the speed limit.  
Richard peered around.  
“Hey, is that silly string?” Jared grinned.  
“Yeah, I hid it from Singer. It’s for the next con.” Dean pulled the bag away from them, already foreseeing terrible consequences. He didn’t see Richard pluck a can from the top of the bag and hide it in his jacket.  
“We are not doing silly string right now, guys. How old are you?” The hunter was on tenterhooks. Goddammit, this was all his fault. Misha- weird, loopy, lovable Misha, might be dead or worse and it was on him. This Azrael dude was going to get what was coming to them, whether they liked it or not.  
Some people had to learn to keep their hands off of Dean’s husband-  
Wait. No. Not his husband. Dear god, he had known the man for less than a day. What was he doing?

“Someone’s a little distracted, Dean.” Dean’s reverie came crashing down around him at the whispered comment from Richard.  
“You know?” The actor shrugged dismissively.  
“Saw your tattoo. Don’t worry, you can keep the little summer of love charade up with Misha and I won’t complain. But you listen to me, Mister Winchester.” Dean couldn’t quite tell what color Richard’s eyes were, but the look in them made his bones turn to ice. Rich was pretty fricking scary for a guy that might not be allowed on some slides at the water park. “You break his heart and I don’t care how well your deadbeat dad trained you. I will annihilate you with all the mercy that Gabriel showed you. Got it?” Dean gulped.

“Yep.” Richard grinned, and he was back to the tiny wisecracking actor. Jared continued driving, blissfully oblivious to the threat of bodily harm that was going on in the backseat. The car slowed.  
“We’re here,”  
“You two take warehouse one. I’ll take number two.”  
“I don’t know if you didn’t hear me or something,” Jared sighed, “But we will get our asses chewed if we split up. Literally chewed. And I’d prefer to keep my ass intact.”  
“Fine, Jared. Whatever helps you sleep at night.” Dean rolled his eyes and got out of the car, Richard behind him. “Tell me why one of us couldn’t sit in the front again?”  
“I didn’t need a peanut gallery on my driving,” Jared muttered. Richard busted out laughing and pushed Dean towards the large metal doors.

***

Misha was asleep as Azrael returned, looking stony-faced. She splashed water on the holy fire and the actor, watching with a small amount of satisfaction as both spluttered. One died out, one looked up at her with indignation.  
“You really didn’t need to-“ And then her hand was around the traitor’s neck, the sharp edge of an angel blade pressed to the flesh.  
“Why did you call them here?” Misha squeaked in terror and struggled, looking down at the silver edge. His cut from earlier stung.  
“I-I didn’t! I swear!” Azrael’s grip tightened and Misha choked, trying to pull her hands away. “I-“  
“They’re here right now, before a portal is accessible. This is your doing.”  
“Or, like, the police’s-“  
“SHUT UP! Maybe I should just kill you now, leave your body here for him to find. Smite you. Slit your throat.”  
“Well, wouldn’t that be just fucking poetic…” Misha gasped, and got a smack to the face that split his lip.  
“You had better-”  
“Playtime’s over, Azrael,” came a voice from the doorway. “Back down.” Azrael turned, one arm effortlessly holding Misha off the ground. She huffed and blew a strand of hair away from her face.  
“If I don’t, Mr. Winchester?” Dean grinned. This was where he was the most comfortable, even if it was fucked up.  
“Then I’ll be much less gentle when I gank your feathery ass. Let him go.”

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, you’re pretty neat. Thanks for reading my shit! I hope you liked this one.


	3. The Fight and the Panic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The fight breaks out and they get Misha back. This is a short chapter for Thanksgiving. Also, hello plot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Email me!  
> Limitlessmind27@gmail.com  
> I will listen to what you have to say on any of my works, or if you want me to draw something for something or just want to recommend a cool fic, I’d love to hear what you have to say.

Azrael scoffed. “I am not afraid of you.” Misha struggled weakly. His vision was spotty and blurry and he couldn’t breathe… but he could have sworn that he saw Jensen there. It was probably a hallucination.

  
“Well, maybe you should be,” Dean spat, picking up a broken board and moving towards Azrael. It wasn’t much against her blade, but it was better than nothing.   
Misha panicked. It was actually Jensen. And he was going to fight this girl?! “Jen, no,” he choked, kicking his feet frantically.   
Dean felt something in him break. He didn’t get why Misha was fine with getting strangled but not fine with him fighting the bitch that’s doing it. A shadowy form walked up behind the angel, tapping her on the shoulder. She looked over.   
“Hola, mi hermana.” Richard ripped off the packaging for the silly string in one smooth motion and sprayed it directly into her eyes. Azrael screeched and dropped Misha onto the cold cement floor, his half-conscious body landing with a thudding noise as she clawed at the offending children’s toy.

  
Dean rushed to his husband (seriously, was he even trying to get it right anymore? Nah. Mish could be his husband for a few days) as Jared ran past him, holding a roll of duct tape and shrieking at the top of his lungs. He knelt next to the actor, rolling him over. He was breathing. And conscious. That was good.   
“Jen?” came a weak and very confused sounding voice.   
“Mish, Mish, hey.” Dean scrambled to check Misha for broken bones and found none. He was probably concussed, though.   
“Jen, you came.”  
“Yeah. Yeah, I’ll always come for you. Now shush, we gotta get you out of here.”

  
“Romantic bastard.” This made Dean crack a smile. At least Misha was partially himself.   
“I’ve been told it’s one of my many flaws.” Jared and Richard were sparring with a temporarily blinded and furious Azrael. Richard managed to grab her arms, and that’s when Jared started wrapping.   
“You are all idiots!! I’ll come for Castiel eventua-” The rest of it was muffled when Jared slapped a piece of the silvery tape over her mouth. Misha curled into Dean’s chest, bleary-eyed.   
“I didn’t sleep,” he slurred.   
“I didn’t either. But you gotta stay up for me, okay? We gotta make sure that when that chick dropped you, she didn’t scramble your eggs.”  
“You sound like Dean,” Misha mumbled sleepily. Dean nodded and grinned.

  
“You flatter me.” He carried Misha into the backseat, closed the door behind them, and locked it. From there, he called the police.

Richard and Jared made it out fine, though Jared had a black eye from getting headbutted. The cops took the angel away, presumably to go rot in prison with Virgil, who had been trapped in a dimension like this one. The thought made Dean want to punch something. Virgil had killed Misha. He wanted to run over and hold his husband tightly, to pet his hair and tell him that he was so so sorry that he hadn’t been able to save him…  
But that Misha wasn’t this Misha. Dean chastised himself. This guy was married to someone that wasn’t him. But was him at the same time. Jesus, this was complicated.

  
He still walked over, nodded as the EMT told him that Misha had a concussion, listed the symptoms, and told him it would only be a few days before he was completely fine. A concussion. That was okay, they had plenty.   
“Alright, Mr. Ackles, you’re free to go.” Misha ran over to him, stumbled, and almost fell over, but Dean was there to catch him.   
“Jen!” he said happily, snuggling into Dean’s arms. “You saved me.”   
“Richard and Jared saved you. I was just there as the poster boy.” That got a laugh and a dizzy, loopy kind of smile.

  
“Wanna go home,” Misha slurred again, slumping into Dean’s hold as the wave of tiredness hit him. Richard and Jared came over, looking like they had just been scolded thoroughly. Richard raised an eyebrow.   
“Don’t get involved, they said. Don’t spray silly string at people’s faces, they said. We should be national heroes. I’m just pissed that we didn’t get the Mounties to yell at us.” He hopped into the driver’s seat, and Jared took shotgun, leaving Dean to cuddle up with Misha in the back. The atmosphere was warm and cozy, and they both fell asleep almost right away, Misha practically plastered to Dean’s chest.   
Jared and Richard woke Dean up when they got back.   
“Hey, it was a long night for us, too. We’re going to go turn in.”   
“Thank you,” Dean croaked, rubbing his eyes. “Thank you for saving him.”

  
“Thank you for helping get our friend back. See you around,” Richard added in and winked. Dean shot him a grumpy look and picked Misha up, carrying him to their trailer and unlocking the door. Their car had been temporarily taken as evidence. Misha was going to be furious.   
Dean carried Misha inside and laid him on the bed, snuggling up next to him and holding him tightly. He was never going to let anything like this happen to his husband again.

Astarte stepped onto the bare concrete of the warehouse, the floor cold against her feet. Her jewelry jingled as she knelt and inspected the fight scene, the ring-shaped scorch mark, the small bit of blood and remnant of the child’s device that Loki had used to defeat his enemy. She had not known that Kali’s beloved was still alive.   
Astarte had avoided that gathering at the Elysian at all costs. She had known the risks, being older than most.  
On another note, Dean Winchester was doing well. He had passed the first test with flying colors. But really, in the land of physical strength, what had she expected? It had always been his strong suit. Astarte trailed her fingers over the blood and watched it vanish. Misha Ackles. The catalyst. Dean Winchester seemed to already be infatuated with this strange creature. Astarte wondered how the actor would handle the switch. She looked up as someone opened the door, and dissolved into red light that vanished without a trace. The evidence was gone.

Misha woke up. Sunlight was streaming through the window, casting strange patterns on the cold sheets. Cold sheets. Jensen wasn’t there.   
“Jensen!” he screamed in panic, jumping out of bed and running into the kitchen, a billion different evil scenarios running through his head- Jensen was dead, Jensen was gone, and the worst one… Jensen left him... He stopped at the sight in the kitchen, all fear vanishing. His husband was trying to make pancakes. Operative word: trying. Batter was EVERYWHERE.   
“God fuggin’ dammit…” the green-eyed man growled. Relief washed through Misha and he blinked back tears. Jensen hadn’t left him.

  
“Jen,” he sobbed, watching the other’s face morph from frustration at the pancakes to panic and then there were arms around him and someone was holding him tightly.   
“Shhh, Mish, I got you. I’ve got you.” Misha sank into the warmth and safety of his husband and let himself cry.   
“You w-weren’t there and then y-you weren’t anywhere and you l-left me,” he babbled into Jensen’s chest.   
“It’s okay. It’s okay. I’m here. I’m not gonna leave you.” Misha took a deep breath and hiccuped slightly. Jen wiped away his tears.   
“You know what? Let’s just do omelets. You want kale on yours?”   
“Y-Yeah.”   
“Okay. Come on,” Jensen didn’t let go of Misha the entire time he was making the omelets. He always just kept an arm around him, or stroked his hair, or sang Arcade Fire to him, and Jen always had a nice voice but it was better when Misha was next to him, breathing in the scent of evergreens. That was kind of new. Misha didn’t remember that smell.   
“Did you switch your shampoo? You smell different.” Jensen stiffened.

  
“Um… yeah. The old one wasn’t doing it for me.” Misha dismissed it immediately, cuddling in next to him and giving him pointers on cutting up the kale. He didn’t see the glances out the window, a sign of someone looking for danger, expecting it. He didn’t see that there was a knife within arm’s reach at all times. And he didn’t see that the phone was open and 911 already dialed, also near at all times.   
Misha was just busy enjoying his time with Jensen as he made omelets for the both of them after a bad scare. But he did hear Jensen mutter, “God damned rabbit food” and that got his attention.   
“Someone running lines, Jen?” he teased, jabbing an elbow into Jensen’s side. Jensen’s mouth tightened for the smallest second, and then he smiled. Misha dismissed this also. He was probably just worried.   
“Well, you know me.”   
“You’re starting to sound like Richard.”

  
“God forbid.” A laugh bubbled out of Misha’s mouth and it felt good. They sat down and they ate their omelets. Sunlight seemed brighter, and the birds were singing. It was disgustingly cliche. And it was good. Everything was good.   
Astarte would give them a day to rest. She was nothing if not a benevolent god.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want your suggestions. I want your prompts. I want your criticism and anything you want to throw at me. Why? Because I can’t stress to you how much your comments mean to me. If you think that I won’t care about what you have to say, I DO. I LOOK AT MY INBOX EVERY SINGLE DAY. YOUR COMMENT WILL NOT GO UNNOTICED. And I take your suggestions into account, I really do. So please. Be a buddy. Tell me what you think. Input from people who have commented has already influenced the end of this story. Eorozco2720, I’m looking at you.


	4. Sebastian, This is an Order

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> GUYS. GUYS. I AM SO SORRY. I SAID THE NEXT CHAPTER WOULD BE POSTED IN A FEW DAYS AND A FEW DAYS TURNED INTO A FEW WEEKS. I SERIOUSLY CANNOT APOLOGIZE ENOUGH. 
> 
> But I did beat the Block! Woo!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note that Sebastian Roché is not actually a dick, he’s a total sweetheart, albeit an inappropriate one. I just kind of needed him to be an asshole for this.

“So… what’s the plan?” he asked, staring at Astarte. She had appeared with her hands clasped. That wasn’t good.  
“We want an emotional obstacle.” The God across from her nodded.   
“Competition, perhaps? I think I know a guy. Good choice on the matter of the obstacle, Losechester wouldn’t know emotional clarity if it shoved its fist up his ass.” Astarte grimaced at the crude humor.   
“Will you use an illusion?”   
“Probably. The guy I know won’t even be able to reach the level off assholery it’s going to take to piss him off.”

  
“Be careful.” She stood up, light glinting off her jewelry.   
“Hey- um… why Winchester? Why Misha Collins? Why now?” He caught her wrist.   
“You know why. Their talents. Their souls.”  
“I don’t like the game you’re playing, Astarte. Messing with dimensions, it’s…”  
“Please,” she whispered. “You know how much she means to me. Dean’s got the experience and Misha the adaptability. We need them to find her.”  
“Fuckin’ with heaven, Astarte…”  
“I don’t care! I need Qetesh back!”   
“Then do it yourself! Or use an actor from Dean’s dimension!”   
“No,” she said stubbornly. “It has to be this one. This one, this is the one I need.” The man closed his eyes and sighed.   
“Fine. It’s not my funeral when the God Squad come and rip you up for sniffing around about Qetesh. She’s probably fine.” Astarte merely gave him a haunted look and vanished, like light refracting through red wine. The God sighed. “Great. Let’s begin.”

***

Dean answered the knock.   
“Hello, uh, is Misha here?” Holy hell.   
“Um…” Not-Balthazar crossed his arms. “He’s… uh… he’s resting,” Dean finished lamely, blinking away his shock.   
“Yes, yes, long day, I know. Is he quite damaged?”   
“Would you be damaged after getting kidnapped and almost strangled to death?” Dean already wanted to shove this guy’s arm down his throat.   
“Touché, my friend, touché,” the man grinned. “May I see him?”   
“No,” Dean said shortly, slamming the door.  
“Ow,” came a small, incredibly douchey whimper. Not-Balthazar had jammed his foot in. “Please?”   
“I think you can understand why I really don’t want anyone seeing my husband right now,” Dean attempted to close the door again, not regretting the pain it caused the other man.   
“No, really, I-“  
“Sebastian?” There was a small, non-douchey voice from behind Dean.   
“Misha!” Sebastian said, sounding relieved. “Will you- Ow!” Dean had shut the door on his foot again. “Will you tell your - ow- lovely husband that I will not- ow- attempt to cause you any harm?” Dean had given up and was now just repeatedly slamming the door on Sebastian’s foot.   
“Jensen,” Misha laughed, wrapping his arms around Dean’s waist. “Relax. Sebastian’s a friend.” Dean scowled at him, feeling a rush of an emotion that he couldn’t quite name, and let the sandy haired man in. Sebastian hobbled inside, his grin twitching at the corners.  
“Misha, darling, I heard what happened to you.” Misha let go of Dean and went to throw his arms around Sebastian.   
“Thank you for coming to see me.”   
“Yes, yes, pet. Of course. May we talk in private, love? There are things that I must catch you up on.” Dean stiffened. He already loathed this guy worse than anything. Who was he to come into Dean’s house and steal his traumatized husband?   
“Nuh-uh, buddy. Not happening.” He crosses his arms for emphasis.   
“Jensen,” Misha sighed exasperatedly. “He’s about as harmful as a whisk.” Dean could think of seven different ways to kill someone with a whisk. This wasn’t helping. “Just let me talk to him, it’s been awhile since the last convention.”  
“Mm.” Dean wasn’t convinced, but he kissed Misha and left. Ugh, the Sebastian guy was a total asshole.   
He heard hushed voices, unintelligible, conversing in the main room as he went to the bedroom to sulk.

“...It wasn’t a big deal,” Misha finished lamely. “I came out fine.” There were bruises around his neck, ugly and purple. Sebastian touched one reverently.   
“I’m so sorry, darling. I wish I had been there.” Misha bit his lip.   
“If it’s the worst that comes out of all of this, it won’t be so bad.”   
“They’re saying that you’re doing it for attention.” Misha wrinkled his nose.   
“Eh, screw them.” Sebastian laughed.   
“Good thing you’ve got your knight in shining flannel protecting you from all of the big bad visitors.” The slightly taller man blushed.   
“I hope you can understand, he got the shit scared out of him.”  
“You should be the one that got the shit scared out of you, darling, not him.”   
“I did. But he saved me.” Sebastian clucked and shook his head disapprovingly.   
“The police should have done their job. That was vigilante work right there.” Misha swatted him.   
“Better than you could have done.”   
“Mhm, I’m sure, pet.”

“I’m going insane.”   
“That’s the general emotion that people get around Sebastian,” Richard said cheerfully, crossing his legs.   
“No, it’s just that he’s calling Misha ‘love’ and ‘pet’ and ‘darling’ and-”  
“Dean, he’s French.”   
“Richard, that was flirting,” Dean sniped back. “I should know.”   
“Exactly. Misha isn’t even married to you, he’s married to your mild-mannered body double. Stop being so possessive.”  
“But Misha thinks I’m the mild-mannered body double, and he’s going along with it anyway!” Richard rolled his curiously colored eyes.   
“You’re not exactly a homebody, Dean.”  
“That doesn’t mean that I don’t want to be!” Dean burst out, his cheeks reddening as he realized what he’d said. The actor raised an eyebrow.   
“Come again?”   
“I- uh… look. I’ve been on the road for almost my whole life.”   
“Except for that one chick.”  
“Screw you, Speight.”   
“Anytime, big boy.” Dean gagged at the thought and continued.  
“It’s been… it’s been nice.”  
“Don’t you get mushy on me now.”   
“You know what? This is why I don’t do chick flick moments. Because guys like you are utter dicks about it.” Richard laughed.   
“Come on, tough guy, let’s go drink some and forget about it.” Dean nodded.   
“Amen to that.” They walked to the bar.

Dean didn’t sleep well last night. He lay on his back on the bed, highly drunk, waiting for Misha to get back. Every second was a new panic attack as he worried if Sebastian was in cahoots with that crazy angel lady. Misha wasn’t there, wasn’t with him, was off happy somewhere else. Dean didn’t want to be creepy or possessive or anything- jesus, he barely knew the guy- but the hunter in him was screaming that he didn’t even know if Misha was okay. He got up and started pacing, worried out of his mind. He heard a door open, and laughing.   
“I’ll see you tomorrow?”  
“Certainly.” There was a soft chuckle and the door closed.   
“Jensen?” Dean bit his lip. He wished Misha knew who he really was. But that would open a whole new can of worms that he didn’t even want to touch with a ten-foot pole.  
“I’m in here,” he slurred, falling back onto the bed. Misha came into the room and smiled.   
“Jensen, have you been drinking?”

“No.” He thought about it. “Yes.” And then he realized that he had accidentally quoted Castiel and felt even worse. He was being a douchebag, and Misha deserved to be happy. And Sebastian seemed nice. Well… not really. But Misha liked him. The actor laughed, breaking him from his reverie, and Dean realized he had said it out loud. Fucking hell. Alcohol was a bitch sometimes.   
“I get why you’re worried.” He sat down and took Dean’s hand in his own. “I get it, I really do. Sebastian proposed when our engagement was still a secret, and you don’t like that he’s hanging around.” Dean felt his stomach churn. Sebastian had proposed to Misha? What the shit?   
“It’s fine, Mish,” he managed.   
“It’s not. You’re jealous, and you feel like you’re being a dick. You just told me so yourself. We have booze to thank for that little gem. Jen, you’re allowed to be jealous. God knows I am sometimes.”

‘You’re jealous? Of me? That’s insane!” Dean spluttered, not sure that he had heard Misha right.  
“Jen, you have people all over the world who see you as some kind of god. I’ve seen websites devoted solely to your freckles.” That was just plain fuckin’ creepy. “And I get that kind of thing too. But I’m not as much of an idol as you are, I’m a side character.” Dean found a little clarity through the haze of his drunken stupor.   
“Bullshit. There ain’t no Team Free Will without Cas, Mish. Without you, it’s just me and Sa- Jared doing stupid shit.” Misha blushed and wrapped his arms around Dean, pulling him close.   
“That’s sweet,” he murmured into the hunter’s shirt, leaning his head on Dean’s chest.   
“Sebastian invited himself to breakfast,” Misha added as an afterthought. Dean grinned at the thought. Maybe a little communication wasn’t a terrible thing.

“Well, cool. I’ll strongarm my way through it. Some of that good ol’ Winchester repression.” He giggled and pulled Misha back with him. “Imma sleep now.”   
“Jensen!” Misha squeaked, struggling, but Dean held on tight. “We’re still in regular clothes!”   
“You run marathons in maid outfits, you are not allowed to complain.”   
“Fuck you.”   
“Later. We gotta sleep now.” Misha thumped Dean’s chest with his free arm, trying to wriggle free.   
“Let me go, you bastard!”   
“No.”   
“Jennnnnn,” Misha whined. “I’ll leave you for Sebastian.”   
“You wouldn’t dare.”   
“Let me go, then!” Dean huffed and opened his arms, letting Misha get up and get some pajamas on.

***

“Fuck, they’re actually talking to each other.”   
“That’s not very common. Ow! You’re stepping on my foot!” Astarte drew herself back with an indignant snort.  
“Should we up the flirting?”  
“We can’t make it too bad, or it’ll come to blows. This is supposed to not be physical.”   
“He’s a Winchester, of course it’ll be physical.”   
“They were supposed to fight about this.”   
“Maybe this means that they’re even more qualified than expectations,” he offered. Astarte frowned.   
“Perhaps.” She watched the two through the window. “Make it enough that it’s almost unbearable. We’ll see how this goes.”

***

The next morning came bright, clear, and shitty. Misha was sleeping on Dean’s chest, completely zonked out, and Dean was hungover as hell. They were on the floor. Naturally, being the sick one, Dean woke up first and shoved Misha away to go throw up. Misha responded with an indignant shriek but quickly realized the problem and helped Dean through it, rubbing his back and giving him water and crackers when he could keep it down. Dean threw it all back up again. Fun.   
“You know what I think you need?”   
“Mish, if you say kale, I’m going to castrate you.” Misha huffed playfully.   
“Fine, in the spirit of keeping my balls, I’ll say a hug.” This got a chuckle from Dean, which triggered another round of heaves. Misha grinned and went into the bedroom, coming out in a pair of rainbow sweatpants, a rainbow flannel that couldn’t have clashed more horribly if it wanted to, and a goddamn cowboy hat.   
“Is normal clothing a foreign concept to you?”   
“Honey, this is downright tame.” Dean threw up again.

They took the bus to Vancouver and got off early so they could go around the little shops. Dean was worried about people calling them out, but the worst they got was a girl and her theyfriend asking for a picture.

Dean liked Canada. He held Misha’s hand until they got to a random farmer’s market, and then he broke away for samples. Misha claimed that he was trying a breatharian diet, to which Dean responded “bullshit” and handed him a cup of some kombucha thing. Misha accepted it with a laugh and a kiss, and it was beautiful. But, as all good things must end eventually, the time for breakfast with Sebastian neared, and they had to leave. Dean bought a pine-scented organic shampoo as per Misha’s demand and a bag of rabbit food for a stir fry they would be having that night.

No, not literal rabbit food. The kind that he was going to resist eating and that Misha would threaten to shove down his throat. That kind.

They made it to the cafe on time, and Sebastian was sitting in the window table.   
“Oh. You brought him.” He didn’t seem pleased with this development. Dean rolled his eyes and sat down, Misha perching on the third chair. They ordered (Dean: pancakes and scrambled eggs, Sebastian: toast, jam, cocoa, and poached egg, thank you, and Misha: scrambled sausage with ketchup, hot sauce, and parsley. You have a lovely day).   
Their waitress didn’t really know what to do with Misha, but she dutifully wrote the order down and disappeared into the kitchen. Dean was grinning like an idiot, it was so stereotypically Misha. He squeezed his husband’s hand under the table and the actor turned to grin at him.

“So, er…” Sebastian looked uncomfortable. Dean looked over at him.   
“How are you today, Sebastian?” Sebastian opened his mouth, closed it, and grinned tightly.  
“You two had a nice night, I presume?”   
“Wonderful. Misha brought out the handcuffs, it was fantastic.” Misha slapped him on the arm, sending him a look that screamed ‘behave’. Dean felt like a chastised child.   
“Jen! Sebastian, I-”   
“No, it’s alright,” Sebastian laughed. “Jensen’s a regular comedian.”   
“Mm.” Dean nodded. He was fairly sure that he could reach up with his butter knife and cut the tension.  
“Awkward,” Sebastian muttered. “So, Misha, how is the acting?”  
“I’m fairly sure that Kripke and Singer are trying to kill the fandom,” Misha laughed. Sebastian smiled, feeling a little more comfortable.   
“I saw the news.”  
“The queerbaiting has come to an end!” Misha cheered, leaning back in his chair. Dean smiled quietly, happy to hold his tongue for once. Sebastian raised an eyebrow.   
“You know, when I played Balthazar, I never once thought that Dean and Cas would actually… you know.”  
“Start dating? Get married?” Dean offered.   
“Rob should officiate the wedding,” Misha cackled, digging into his sausage monstrosity and humming in pleasure. “Try it, Jen.” He fed Dean a piece.

They finished eating eventually, Misha and Sebastian chatting about the show and their careers and how much of a dick Robert Singer was. Dean listened quietly, taking in as much context as he could. It was easy to forget that he wasn’t supposed to be here. That was the long and short of it, right? He wasn’t from here. The truth hit him like a train. He was faking Misha out. He was tricking Misha into cheating on his husband. It felt like shit.   
“I need some air,” he muttered, and walked out of the diner. Misha looked up, confused.  
“Excuse me, Sebastian.” He followed his husband.   
“Jen? What’s wrong?” Dean jumped when the hand was placed on his shoulder. Jensen. Not Dean. It hurt so badly. He wanted to be Jensen, that was the problem, he wanted it desperately. Wanted to have the memories of Biking With Mish and the wedding and the proposal. He wanted all of it. But he wasn’t Jensen Ackles, he was Dean Winchester, the fuck-up. The selfish asshole. He should be doing everything he could to get Misha's husband back. And he wasn’t.   
“I’m sorry,” he choked out. “I’m so damn sorry.”   
“Jensen,” Misha said, sounding worried. “Jensen, what’s going on?” There was that name again.   
“I’m-” The truth stuck in his throat. He could have sworn he saw a beautiful woman in a red headscarf staring at him from across the street. And then a car went by and she was gone. “I’m fine.” Fucking hell, Astarte.   
“You sure?” Dean plastered a smile on his face and turned to Misha.  
“Positive. Let’s go finish breakfast.” He wrapped an arm around Misha and kissed him on the cheek.

Sebastian looked out of the window, shaking his head disappointedly. For a second, his body went in and out of focus, the corners blurring slightly with a faint bluish look to it. “Tut, tut, Dean-o, can’t have you telling Astarte’s secrets too early.” For a second, his eyes turned gold. And then it was gone, and he was a normal actor, sitting in a booth, eating his toast and jam and drinking watery cocoa. The little girl eating with her mothers thought she was having a hallucination. She never mentioned it again. It was a trick of the light, naturally. It wasn’t. It was just a trick, light had nothing to do with it. But the little girl didn’t know that. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, look, Sebastian isn’t real. I would ask you who the mystery helper of Astarte is, but I think we all know. Comment and tell me who you think it is anyway!


	5. When the Levee Breaks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ulterior motives. Misha’s mood swings. Empty apologies. And an old not-friend.

 

 

Sebastian left eventually, after another hour of chatting over breakfast. Misha kept shooting Dean suspicious looks, like he just wanted to make sure that his husband wasn’t about to have another breakdown. Dean kept a smile stapled on his face the entire time, his mask carefully in place.

 

* * *

 

 

They went home, catching the bus instead of calling a chauffeur (Misha called it “going native”, Dean called it “existing like a normal human being”). It was late in the day, so they got on their computer and looked through Misha’s Twitter and Tumblr accounts for anything interesting. Astarte once again). It was the weekend, so they got a little break in acting (Dean sent a silent prayer of thanks to Misha was incredibly offended that Dean didn’t “remember” his passwords, but was quickly placated with kisses and gentle teasing.

  
“Ooh, a rec list!”  
“What’s a-”  
“Jensen! We talked about this just a few days ago?” Dean felt the familiar lump in his throat once again, the ache inside him just begging to tell Misha who he really was. But who would believe him, anyway? Misha frowned as a Tweet came up on his homepage.

 

_So disgusted with @mishacollins for faking a kidnapping just for shits and giggles. Get a life._

 

Misha’s frown deepened as he scrolled down. What the hell? “Jen,” he said weakly. “Jen, they’re all saying it was fake.”  
“Mish,” Dean said gently, closing the computer and pulling Misha into a hug. “I’ve got you, buddy. They’re all idiots anyway.” Misha shot him a tentative smile.  
“Y-yeah.” But inside, he hurt. It wasn’t the first time that people had criticized him like this, but this was personal. He hadn’t had a choice in growing up the way he had, and he also hadn’t had a choice in getting kidnapped. The door opened. Richard.  
“What’s up, guys?”

  
“Twitter trolls,” Dean said sharply, petting Misha’s hair. Richard looked nothing other than tired. His eyes were sunken and his hair was limp and unwashed.

 

“That sucks.” Misha sighed and snuggled into Dean’s chest. Dean wanted to disappear.  
“Why are you here, Rich?” Richard looked resigned and upset, like he didn’t want to be here. Dean’s invisible hackles rose at the sight. What was going on?  
“I need to talk to Misha, Jensen, if you could give us a moment.” Dean stayed put. “Trust me, you don’t want to be here for this.” A stone sunk in the hunter’s chest.  
“Rich, don’t do this.”

  
“Jen? What’s going on?”  
“Just leave, Dean!” Richard snapped, raising a hand, and Dean found himself flying across the room and into the kitchen. The door slammed in his face. He didn’t even question it at the time, too petrified with fear.  
“No!” Wait… a human couldn’t do something like that.

 

Misha froze. “Something you gotta say, Rich?”  
“Just drop the charade and use my damn name,” Richard said heavily, sinking down in the loveseat across from Misha and putting his head in his hands. “Listen, this is my fault. I created this world as a hideaway from my dick brother and now it’s all falling apart.” It was falling apart, but it was only partially his fault. He took the blame anyway. He had a problem with doing that.  
“Rich-”

  
“Just say it.” Golden eyes stared Misha down, daring him. “Just fuckin’ say it.”  
“Gabriel?” Misha breathed. “So it’s all fake?”

“No. It’s real, and that’s the problem. A buddy of mine opened a rift, and now Heaven’s going to fuck everything up. Listen. That guy-” Richard pointed to the door, “is not your husband.” Misha paled and started to shake.  
“So, he’s-”

  
“Dean Winchester.”

  
“Oh my god,” Misha squeaked, running a hand through his hair. “Please say this is some kind of prank.”  
“I wish. I really wish it was. But it’s not, and we need your help.”  
“We?”  
“Yes,” came a smooth voice, and Astarte materialized at the corner of the room. Misha gave a shout of terror and bolted out of his seat, finding himself trapped between the two beings. His heart was racing, his mind had gone totally, completely blank… where was Jensen, if Jensen was Dean? He wanted to wake up, he needed to wake up, just let this be a nightmare… It all hit him.

Jensen didn’t smell like Jensen, he acted differently, he seemed tense all the time, all this time… Misha cried out and fell to his knees.  
“What did you do to my husband?” he screamed, looking up at the goddess. “What have you done?”

“That’s the problem,” Astarte said apologetically, “We don’t know.”  
“You don’t know,” Misha laughed hysterically, curling up into a ball. “You don’t know where he is and you have the nerve to bring... Dean... into this mess.” The door to the kitchen opened and Dean sprinted in, grabbing Gabriel by the jacket and shoving him into the wall.  
“You were dead,” he snarled.  
“Yeah, didn’t sit well with me,” the archangel spat, pushing Dean off of him. “You’ve got some explaining to do.”  
“Fuck you, pipsqueak.”

  
“You’re Dean,” Misha said softly from the floor, looking up at him. All humor was gone from his face. He looked devastated.  
“Yeah,” Dean murmured, leaning down and helping Misha up.  
“So it’s true?”  
“I’m so sorry.” Misha gulped and looked at him.  
“You pretended to love me.” Astarte watched silently.  
“I only had to pretend for a little bit,” Dean said truthfully, finding the words pouring out of his mouth in a river that he couldn’t stop. “Mish, you’re… I’m so sorry.”  
“Don’t call me that,” Misha said dully, his face a mask of pain. He looked like he was about to cry. “Don’t.”

  
“I tried to tell you. Outside the diner,” Dean begged, not sure who he was pleading with.  
“You weren’t quick enough.”  
“You would have laughed at me.”  
“I would have.” They were silent for awhile, trying to sort things out for themselves. The air felt heavy as stones, but floated around them anyway. It was only in their minds. Dean’s mouth felt like it was full of cement. That was also only in his mind.

 

“We’ll find him,” the hunter promised. Promises didn’t always come true, and Misha knew that.  
“Don’t bullshit me, I’m an adult.” The words came out sourer than he wanted, and the actor watched his not-husband flinch as they cracked against his skin.  
“I’m not lying.”  
“Why do you even care about what happens to him?”  
“Because I care about you, and you care about him.” Dean wanted to hide. He wanted to crawl into a hole and die, but that wouldn’t happen.

“Why do you care about me?”  
“Because you’re you, Mish.” Dean had ignored his not-husband’s initial request about his nickname, and Misha got lost in the green eyes that had seen so much more horror than the eyes he knew. How had he not seen the weight there, the years of depression and terror around every corner showing in the mirrors to the soul? Time slowed. He didn’t know which god had done that, or if it was just in his mind. His mind again, he figured. “You’re weird and you’re wonderful and you’re six shades of crazy. You’re nothing like Cas at all, and I…”

  
“Must’ve been weird,” Misha murmured. “A man with your best friend’s face-“  
“It’s not important. Listen, we’ll get your husband back.” Dean took his hand, every touch careful, and Misha let himself go.  
“I’m sorry,” he wailed, bursting into tears. “You must hate me.” Dean frowned, wrapping his arms around Misha and just holding him.  
“Why the hell would I hate you? I posed as your husband and I played you-“  
“I forced you into it.”  
“You couldn’t have known.” Misha sank into the warmth that Dean offered him, familiar and unfamiliar.  
“I feel like I should’ve. I should’ve known that you weren’t Jensen.”  
“This is absolutely adorable,” Gabriel broke in, “but we need to go before the rift closes.”  
“We’re going into Dean’s world?” Misha yelped, panicked. He realized what he was doing and shoved a startled Dean away from him. Why couldn’t he stop leading the man on? Dean wasn’t his, and he wasn’t Dean’s. Irrational rage bloomed in his heart, for Dean had lied to him, apologized, and then he had done it again. He had held Misha like he was his. And he wasn’t. And while the contact was welcome, Misha didn’t know his intent. Ugh, this was so very confusing.  
“I mean, unless you don’t want Jensen back-“ Gabriel offered.

 

“Yeah, I’m starting to see why Dean hates you,” Misha said sharply, breaking away from Dean and staring Gabriel down. “I’m going. Take me there.” Dean grinned. He liked this side of Misha. Gabriel shrugged and raised his hands in surrender.  
“Whatever floats your boat.”  
“Loki may make light of this situation,” Astarte said calmly, “but in truth, we need you desperately. Your soul is compatible with Dean’s and you are… more flexible than the angel.” Misha nodded.

  
“Well, at least you’ve got that right. But I don’t like this freaky soul crap, and I need to know. Who has Jensen?” he demanded. Astarte pursed her lips.  
“You remember the angel who kidnapped you?”  
“Azrael,” Dean supplied helpfully. Misha frowned heavily, his mind running through six different memories of an angry girl in a black hoodie.

  
“Yeah.”  
“She and a host of other angels found Loki’s dimension and are hell-bent,” Gabriel snickered at Astarte’s unintentional joke, “on taking the souls here for heaven. To try to empower itself.” Dean gaped.  
“Another entire earth’s worth of souls…”  
“Would make it unstoppable. But I am assuming that Azrael has another plan for those souls.”  
“In other words, we have to get everyone where they need to go and then the rift will close,” Gabriel put in. “Or we’re going to have Godstiel 2.0 strutting around. And her intentions are less than benevolent.”  
“Another human-hater,” Dean muttered. “Awesome.”

“So, we have to find Jensen and get both him and myself back over here before Azzie can ruin everything and fuck up the universe,” Misha mused. “Let me grab my bag.”  
“You’re okay with all of this?!” Dean looked at him incredulously. Misha shot him a watery smile.  
“I have to be, don’t I?” He walked into the bedroom, coming out a little later with a small, worn duffel. This Misha was a changed one, there was no light in his eyes. He walked up to Dean and set the bag down carefully. And then he moved too quickly to even really process and Dean found himself sitting on the floor, blood gushing out of his nose, pain firing through his head. “That was for lying to me,” Misha said coldly, picking up his bag.

  
“No kiss?” Dean tried to tease, but the withering glare directed at him had him shutting up pretty quickly.  
“We’ll see if you’ve earned that later.” Astarte waved her hand, and a shimmering red tear appeared in the center of the room. Misha tensed, But squared his shoulders and marched right through it. Dean picked himself off the floor and sighed.  
“You kinda deserved it,” Gabriel said pointedly.

  
“I kinda did,” Dean muttered, loath to agree with the archangel but finding it necessary. And then he walked through the red light to home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, tell me what you like. Tell me what you hate. Recommend any side ships and I’ll think about that too. How do you think Dean’s gonna make it up to Misha? How are they gonna get Jensen and Qetesh back?

**Author's Note:**

> Let’s have a talk about Kudos and Comments, guys. Please just comment and put kudos on, the first person to comment gets a shoutout and me reading all of their stuff at one in the morning! And I mean /all of it/. I don’t care what filthy, sin-driven thing you’re writing, I WILL READ IT. AND TELL YOU WHAT I THINK. 
> 
> I love you guys. -Limitless


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